


All Things Precious Must Hang by Threads

by calcitranq



Category: Pokemon, Pokemon GO
Genre: And the World Will Turn to Ash, Mild Masochism, Mild sadism, Minor Violence?, Multi, Other, Pokemon GO - Freeform, Siblings, Team Rocket - Freeform, fucked up family dynamics, if the lines between agender siblings start to blur between this and something else I regret nothing, more characters to come over time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcitranq/pseuds/calcitranq
Summary: A collection of drabbles and flash fiction that orbit around Blanche (mostly), the Team Mystic gym leader, and Noire (Asshole Extraordinaire.)





	1. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Noire and Amelie of Team Rocket belongs to [Declinant.](http://declinant.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you'd like to submit a prompt, find me on [tumblr](http://calcitranq.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Rocket doesn't play favourites, unless it's Noire who's leading the raid. They think they show their love just fine.

In all fairness, Blanche could have won the battle had Noire not deliberately ordered their pokemon to aim at the trainers’ platform where a few Mystic team members sat tied together. Noire’s gaze never left their twin’s face as Venusaur’s vine whip crushed the platform’s supporting pillar, watching each minute expression intently.

Concrete crumpled and lives plummeted, but Noire held no doubts as to what Team Mystic’s gym leader would do.

“—Lapras! Hydro Pump!”

The strong jet of water lessened the impact, cushioning the fall to a more bearable magnitude, and even then the helpless trainers scrabbled for purchase as they began to sink with the rubble.

Blanche grimaced, nodding once to their Vaporeon’s worried chirrup. “You’re all I have left.” A pause, then, “Go. Make sure to get them away from here.”

A vine slashed through the air towards them, startling both gym leader and pokemon into action. Without hesitation, Blanche intercepted the blow with a quick twist of their body, arms braced in front of them as Vaporeon bound quickly across the floor and into the water.

Noire watched as Blanche doubled over in pain, clutching their bleeding side. “You shouldn’t have looked away.”

“Go fuck y—” The rest of Blanche’s words turned into a cry of agony as tendrilous vines wrapped around their torso.

“Tch. Always so mouthy.” Venusaur’s grip tightened at Noire’s command until Blanche gave one more strangled grunt before going limp. “You lot, make yourselves useful.” Noire flicked their head towards the research labs, catching Amelie’s attention in the process, “See to it that they don’t dick around too much.”

With the eye-patch, it was hard to gauge Amelie’s reaction. She could have been looking pointedly away as Noire reached out to caress Blanche’s ashen face, or rolling her eyes.

“Ten minutes, Boss. We’d best be out before _they_ show up.”

Noire made a noncommittal sound, a half-hum of pleasure from seeing the trickle of blood coming from a cut on Blanche’s cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Go away.”

Blanche looked best when cradled in their arms. Ten minutes was enough time to admire the bruises littering sharp shoulders, the way the welt on their pointed jawline gave way to darkened blossoming hues, and when Noire clutched at Blanche’s battered body too hard — because it had been _too_ long, but they fit together so perfectly still, just like when they were children — green eyes roved greedily over Blanche’s pained expression.

It was with a vicious satisfaction that Noire gentled their grip when it was their name Blanche whimpered out.

In the background, Noire was only dimly aware of the hustle of their strike team. Amelie’s voice served as a beacon against the broiling emotions skin deep, at once both tender and volatile, and Noire pressed their cheek against Blanche’s pale hair.

“Do you remember what we promised each other?” Noire murmured, the words a soft stir of breath, intimate. “It’s always going to be our world…”

_Blanche used to smile at them. The small, secretive smile reserved solely for Noire. There was a time when their hands would unconsciously drift towards each others, and when they sat their legs would brush underneath the table, the thought of separation an uncomfortable prickle in their mind._

“...and theirs.”

Footsteps approached as Noire gently set Blanche against a ruined column. They carefully smoothed over Blanche’s features, streaking dirt and smearing blood, before standing to acknowledge Amelie. The brunette had her face carefully blank, uncovered eye settling briefly on Blanche before nodding towards the exit.

“Boss, they’re almost here.”

Noire held back a smirk, returning Venusaur to their ball. “Fuck if I want my asshairs singed. Let’s go.” They looked over their shoulder one last time, their smirk taking on a feral edge, “Besides, I think I’ve left a clear enough message.”

It was evidently apparent whose marks looked better marring Blanche’s skin.


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blanche is sick, and yuzu has a mild flavour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noire of Team Rocket belongs to [Declinant.](http://declinant.tumblr.com/)  
> If you'd like to submit a prompt, find me on [tumblr](http://calcitranq.tumblr.com/)

Noire braces for the swift kick aimed at their head, knees bent, and throws their weight behind the guard of their forearms. Spark’s leg connects with a solid _thwump!_ but only long enough to use the resistance and propel himself into a reverse swing and leg sweep. Trying to anticipate Spark’s movements is like trying to catch lightning in the palm of your hand; he’s equal parts fury and grace, something completely alien to the blond on a daily basis, and each strike is quick, earnest, and savage.

Spark is light on his feet and weaving a hypnotic rhythm that leaves Noire open to a snap punch to the shoulder. They barely have time to twist away before a sturdy uppercut clips their jaw, and their grin is bloody because it brings the blond close enough to be grappled, immobilised, and kneed in the gut, all with ruthless precision.

“Ow… jeez, that… that hurts.” Spark pants, doubling over to clutch at his stomach.

Noire scoffs, backing away a safe distance before wiping the trickle of blood on the back of their hand. “That was the intention, dumbass.” Their hair clings to the back of their neck, a shade darker where it’s clumped together by sweat.

The air inside the gym smells distinctly like ozone — fresh. Noire’s stance widens marginally, both feet planted firmly to the ground. “What’s the matter? Can’t fight fair?”

He unfolds himself slowly, hands pushing against his knees in a show of effort as his spine straightens out, shoulders rolling back like wings unfurling. Spark’s right eye glints with an unnatural yellow hue when their gaze meets, and gives a lazy shrug. “I don’t know what you mean,” he chuckles, tilting his head to one side as though regarding small prey, “this is all me, baby.”

Spark’s breath hisses and crackles between his teeth when he wets the corner of his lips. “Now, come to daddy.”

Noire doesn’t think about how _nice_ it must be to be chosen, doesn’t think about how their body teeters unfailingly towards the call. They lunge forward with a snarl, unable to ignore the goading smile from his lopsided grin and easy stance, as though Noire isn’t a self-made Team Rocket leader, asshole extraordinaire, capable of fucking shit up even without a god-bird at their beck and call. The taste of bitter resentment is deep in their throat as they unleash a series of arcing kicks and low jabs; hell, Noire throws in a few elbow strikes aimed at Spark’s nose for good measure.

A few hits manage to land, but none of them wipe the unconcerned smile off of Spark’s face or the faraway look in his mismatched eyes.

“Hey,” Spark hums low, his voice vibrating against Noire’s skin like the echo of thunder, “Hang on for a sec.” He stops the next blow easily, hand shooting out to grip at Noire’s ankle, their foot centimetres away from his head; he smiles, slow and pleased, before throwing Noire off-balance with a yank and slams them into the ground with an effortless motion.

The wind is knocked out of their lungs from the impact, but Noire’s already scrabbling their blunt nails over Spark’s restraining hand flattened across their chest.

“Get the fuck off—!”

Spark gives them a fond look of warning, swinging a leg over to sit on top of their stomach. “You want it that badly?” His laugh makes Noire bristle indignantly, and he presses his hand down more firmly to watch them squirm. “You look good like this, you know.” He comments casually, his other hand digging around in his pockets, unperturbed by Noire’s swearing and threats as he fishes out his phone.

It’s playing a bubbly tune fit for the opening of a Korean romcom. He gives an admonishing hush in Noire’s direction before answering the call.

“Hey, Blanche! What’s up?” The fond look intensifies in Spark’s eyes, and his voice sweetens almost immediately.

Noire stills underneath the gym leader, and strains to listen in on the conversation. Above, Spark is furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Wha..? Slow down a bit. My French sucks, you know that.” He takes his hand off of Noire’s chest to fumble with the smooth screen of his phone.

 _“—can’t hear you very well, it’s all static…”_ warbles out unsteadily, warped by interference.

Noire gestures angrily at Spark, mouthing words.

Spark mouths back a silent ‘oh’ and closes his mismatched eyes briefly. The fine hairs on Noire’s body tingle and stand on end; the air is heavy and thick, layering on top of them like fog, and then it’s gone.

Blue eyes, impossibly kind, looking away from Noire, crinkle when Spark smiles. “Better, fussypants?”

Blanche’s voice comes through breathy and warm, like honey. _“S-Spark… I don’t feel well.”_

Noire bucks upwards, jostling the blond. “Blanche is sick,” they hiss lowly, frowning.

_“...tried to sleep it off, but I think it… it got worse. I’m so… warm.”_

“They have a temperature,” Noire murmurs in concern, grunting when Spark pushes off of them to stand. Something in their shoulder creaks painfully when they take the offered hand, but Noire ignores it in favour of grabbing their gym bag alongside Spark’s and heads towards the exit.

_“If you’re too busy, I understand.”_

“Tell them we’re heading over right now.” Noire jerks their head towards the exit almost violently, urging Spark to hurry.

He trots to keep up, stretching this way and that to work out the kinks in between his bones. “We’re on our way, Blanche. Just take it easy, okay?”

Blanche’s voice comes through the speakers hesitantly, softer. “Who are you with?”

“Ah, well…” Spark trails off, his rueful expression bleeding into his words, “You just caught me at the end of our sparring session, and…”

Noire’s voice carries over calmly, belied by the urgency of their footsteps. _“Stay in bed. I’ll pick up some good cough syrup and that juice you like.”_

“Noire…?” Blanche pauses, and the sound of muffled coughing can be heard.

“I thought you were still mad at me.” They switch back to French, knowing Spark was listening in. _“You stopped taking my calls.”_

 _“That’s…”_ Noire picks up their pace, _“That is something else. Right now, you’re sick.”_

Spark quirks his eyebrow at what sounds like a quiet huff. The sky is a molten canvas of reds and oranges, wind-swept and chilly.

 _“Be good for me.”_ Noire asks, but it sounds more like a command.

The sliding doors of the Pokemart chimes cheerily. Evening patrons scamper out of Noire’s way as they cleave a path towards the pharmacy section. They stare at their cuts and bruises, some small abrasions, others a dark purple splotch disappearing under the hemline of their cropped top.

 _“See you soon.”_ Blanche sighs, before hanging up. Spark is behind Noire comparing packages of cough drops, not particularly mindful of the attention they’re garnering. He’s much more put together than Noire, having thrown on his jacket to keep away the bite of autumn.

“Blanche doesn’t like that flavour.” Noire slaps his hand away from the citrus medley and reaches for the milder yuzu flavour instead.

The cashier is friendly, and offers a tissue so Noire can wipe the dried blood at the corner of their mouth. They end up leaving with three full bags.

Spark hums the ringtone from before while in the elevator to Blanche’s flat, swinging the plastic bag back and forth to the invisible beat. He’s always been curious about the twins’ relationship with each other, though perhaps fascination would have been a better word for it, but both of them had always been tight-lipped about the whole thing. More often than not, Blanche would change the topic of conversation if their twin was mentioned.

“Noire,” the elevator travels upwards — nine, ten, eleven — and the person in question has their nose almost pressed against the metal doors, impatient. “You okay?”

Noire gives them a look over their shoulder, knuckles clenched. “Blanche is sick. Do you think I’m okay?”

“You don’t think you’re being a little melodramatic?” Spark laughs — twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.

Noire turns around, green eyes flickering and odd shade of violet, “My twin is sick, what part of that don’t you understand? They mean everything to—”

The elevator announces floor thirty-five before the doors slide open. Spark throws up his hands placatingly and slips by Noire first, not wanting to be backed into a small metal compartment dangling thirty-five floors above solid concrete and death.

“Spark! What are you doing here?”

Noire’s scowl deepens into a sneer. “What’s Valour doing here?” They hiss, staring accusingly at Spark.

“Shit! I mean, oh hey, Candela!” He hovers awkwardly between the elevator doors, and waves.

Noire hears Candela sigh audibly. They’re loathe to admit it, but they could relate to that defeated feeling of resignation when it came to dealing with Spark. “Don’t ‘oh hey!’ me, dork. You never replied to my text. Are you here to check on Blanche, too?”

Spark sways indecisively towards Candela, but looks back at Noire regretfully. Even he knew that it was near impossible to keep the two of them civil towards each other without Blanche’s intervention, and what with Noire’s handiwork that recently left Blanche with one cracked rib and lingering bruises, Candela was eager for the chance to return the favour.

“Make sure they drink lots of water. If they won’t take the cough syrup, let them drink the juice with it. They might need to take a shower afterwards; change the bed sheets and pillow covers, and so help me if you let them get out of bed afterwards, Instinct. I will end you.” Noire’s voice is hushed and vicious as they shove the remaining two plastic bags into Spark’s hand.

The elevator door threatens to close on them, and Noire backs away until their back is against cool metal.

Spark’s sighs, and swing the pokemart bags into view for Candela to see. “Yeah, I stopped by the pokemart to pick up some things for Blanche.”

It was then that Blanche opened the door, no doubt drawn by the noise. _“...Did you lose the key again—”_

Their sentence ends in a note of surprise just as the elevator doors close. Noire gives a broken grimace at the nothing in particular; they can still hear the muffled conversation on the other side, not having pressed the button for the lobby.

“Candela. Spark. I’m sorry, I was…”

“You know I like it when you speak French, Blanche.”

“We, err… I bought some cough syrup and things for you!”

Spark’s voice is the loudest, but grows fainter as the trio retreat back into the flat. Noire can hear Candela’s concerned voice last before they close the door to outsiders.

“Now, let us take care of you, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the minor grammatical errors or easily caught mistakes. I usually try to read it through once or twice before posting, but it all starts blurring together if you're the one writing it, I guess. :P (Has been back twice since to fix some thingsssss.)


End file.
